


The Oldest Shade Of Red

by ro_blaze



Category: The Legend of Zelda & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Ganondorf (Legend of Zelda) Needs Therapy, Hallucinations, Immortality, Major Character Undeath, Not In Chronological Order, Psychological Trauma, Rebirth, Reincarnation, Suicidal Thoughts, Temporary Character Death, Trauma, Undead, Zelda (Legend of Zelda) Needs Therapy, they are both disasters and i feel so had about them, timelapse, you figure stuff out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-28
Updated: 2020-11-28
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:34:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27753139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ro_blaze/pseuds/ro_blaze
Summary: Ganondorf Dragmire, once-King of the Valley, the Desert and the Heights, spends his eternity walking through a changing Hyrule in an attempt to repent for a sin long forgotten by history.Or at least he does, until the day the Princess of Destiny walks once more.
Relationships: Ganondorf/Zelda (Legend of Zelda)
Kudos: 17





	The Oldest Shade Of Red

**Author's Note:**

> originally wrote this for halloween but forgot to upload it. oops? 
> 
> (also very unedited so if you spot a mistake pls be kind to me)
> 
> uuuuh warning: pain????
> 
> suffer with me bitches

It’s on the 1576th year of his travels that yet another holy-blooded princess is born. Ganondorf watches the baby’s presentation to the people of Castle City from the corner of an alley, hood drawn over his head, eyes following the shape of a tall woman in ivory and cream robes. A bundle of snow white and sunlight gold lies in her arms, the blessed light of the Triforce radiating from it. On the back of his hand, Power burns white-hot.

She is not the first Wisdom he has seen in his sorry excuse of a life and she won’t be the last. They come and go as they wish, pale specters of the One he had known in his youth; always brilliant with their Goddess-given gift but never reaching that level of divinity She had. They amuse him and sadden him in the same breath, with their soft smiles and their cheerful laughter, innocent and pure beyond what should be considered normal. 

The procession continues and the people around him move. For some reason he cannot quite fathom, Ganondorf pushes himself away from the wall and follows. He is tall enough that moving through the crowd has never been a difficulty. His eyes are trained on the shape of the High Priestess and the princess in her arms. It’s been ages since he’s wanted something in his life. 

When the Priestess climbs onto the marble podium and presents Princess Zelda to the rejoicing crowds, he swears he can almost smell rose water in the air.

* * *

_ “You are reckless.” _

_ “And you wait too much— Check and mate.” _

_ Ganondorf grit his teeth and rolled his eyes. On the opposite side of the table, Zelda laughed, the corners of her eyes crinkling with joy. In the warmth and safety of her chambers, she wore nothing save a sheer nightgown that did nothing to hide the round curves of her body and although he had long grown accustomed to the sight, he couldn’t deny it was inhumanly distracting.  _

_ “You win,” he admitted, pushing the chessboard away and tilting his head back with a dramatic groan. Her laughter was worth all the losses in the world. “Tell me, Princess, what is the prize that you desire?” _

_ At first, she gave no response. A minute or so later, something warm and soft settled over his thighs. Gentle hands cupped his face, nimble fingers brushing the flaming hair away and freeing him from his crown. Before he could open his eyes she had already descended on him, her soft lips and her sinful tongue turning him into a mess and breaking away and resistance he might have put up. _

_ “Join me to bed,” Zelda breathed against his mouth. The tips of her nails pressed against his scalp, the purple of her eyes pierced him all the way to his soul. Hunger was written all over this beautiful, wonderful face of hers. The heat between her legs pressed intimately against him. “Make love to me, Ganondorf. Don’t you love me?” _

_ Don’t you love me? _

_ Once, he might have been able to resist her. Once, he might have been able to put her away and deny her. But Ganondorf was a man so deeply in love that resistance had turned to all but nothing. The moment Zelda turned her pleading gaze towards him, he already had her wrapped in his arms, her slight weight tucked against his chest. _

_ “You will be the death of me, Princess.” _

* * *

The first time he saw her was over a corpse, the red soaked into her nightgown nearly matching the blood of the man who laid in his feet. 

“Hmm,” Zelda said, kicking one of her bloodied feet against the man’s head. “He’s dead.”

“So are you.” Ganondorf lowered his sword hesitantly, blade still wet and bloody. He hadn’t meant to kill the stranger; he hadn’t meant to kill  _ anyone _ . It was self-defense. His cheek smarted and his ribs were bruised where the bastard had pushed him off his horse. It was self-defense. “I killed you.”

“You did.” She gave him a sweet smile and walked over to him, her hauntingly beautiful purple eyes shining with mirth. “Are you happy?”

“No.” His fingers itched to reach out, to touch her, feel the softness of her skin against his fingers. “I haven’t been happy since the day you left me.”

“You killed me,” Zelda reminded him with a gracious tilt of her head. As if he didn’t know. As if he didn’t spend every waking hour regretting. “I didn’t leave you on my accord.”

“I know. Zelda, I’m— ”

“Sorry?” Her smile grew wider and she stepped closer, pushing one finger against his lips. Her touch was as cold as Death, her silver-gold hair catching the full moon’s light. If she took his life now, he’d gladly follow her into the Nether. “Oh, my beloved Gerudo King… There is nothing for you to apologize for. It was never your fault.”

“I killed you!” Ganondorf dropped his sword and grabbed her shoulders, shaking the dead woman. Her bare skin felt like frost through the worn leather of his gloves. Her laughter rang in his ears, hollow, soft and so sweet. “I killed you, Zelda! I had your life in my hands and I threw it away! I murdered you! How is it not my fault?!”

“Shhh…” Her soft fingers caressed his cheek, wiping away the hot tears he hadn’t realized had begun to leak. The tenderness of her gesture would have made him laugh, had he been able to laugh. Even in death, she put his comfort above hers. “You are okay now. It was never your fault, my love…”

His words caught in his throat. Speaking hurt.  _ Looking  _ at her hurt. So Ganondorf stood there, shaking as the ghost of the woman he loved tried to stop the tears flowing down his face.

Come sunrise she was gone, the soft smell of rose water in the air the only sign she’d ever existed.

* * *

_ She enjoyed playing hide and seek as if they were children and not monarchs trying to run their kingdom. And of course, as soft-hearted as he was, Ganondorf obliged. Fortunately for him, Zelda had little interest in hiding. She much preferred the hunt. _

_ And so did he. _

_ “So, Princess,” he purred, pressing her body into the cold wall and drinking in the smell of her arousal as it thickened in the air around them. “I have captured you once more...” _

_ “Indeed.” Zelda kept her head straight and her nose turned up in the air, but her heart thrummed like a hummingbird. He could hear it, feel the blood course through her as he bent his head to nibble on her throat. It wouldn’t take much to twist her neck and watch her turn into nothing in his arm; to pierce his claws through her chest and tear her still-beating heart from her. The image of her sweet blood on his lips made his mouth water. “Whatever shall I do, now that the evil Demon King has taken me prisoner? Oh, Goddesses...” _

_ She was so beautiful, sweat beading on her temples, silver-gold hair wild around her head. Ganondorf said nothing as his tongue trailed over her skin, his fangs dragging over the place her pulse was the strongest. His clawed hands squeezed her rear and Zelda moaned against him, arching further into his touch. For a supposed captive she was more than eager, rubbing the heat of her core against him, twining her trembling hands into his hair. When the tips of his fangs pierced that soft skin she keened and tipped her head back, her fingers yanking onto his mane and cradling him to her neck. _

_ Her blood tasted like heaven on his tongue, impossibly sweet in its divinity. Zelda sighed his name and clutched him to her as he swiped over the small bite. The flesh was already sealing itself by the time he pulled away but the taste reminded, the most delicious flavor he had ever gotten the honor to have. He had no time to think it over, though, as trembling fingers yanked on his hair and pulled him into a heated kiss.  _

_ There were teeth and tongue and growls and moans. Perfectly manicured nails dragged over his shoulders, the smooth silk of his robes the only thing protecting him. Ganondorf groaned when small teeth dug into his bottom lip, drawing just enough blood to entice him further.  _

_ “You are playing with fire, Princess,” he warned, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. _

_ Pressed between his body and the wall, Zelda grinned, her lips painted red, her chest heaving. She was so beautiful. _

_ “Oh, my King. You know I’m not afraid of getting burned.” _

* * *

She has stopped coming.

Ganondorf stares at the piece of meat with cold eyes. His hands are trembling. Somewhere above him, the full moon shines brightly, showering the quiet forest in its silver light. 

It’s been an hour since he dealt the killing blow and Zelda still hasn’t come.

Her visits are the only constant in his life, the only thing still pulling him forward. He counts his days with them — every full moon, she appears for him, a ghost of silver-gold and burning amethyst. He’s come to enjoy his time with her, even with the constant reminder that she’s  _ gone gone gone _ , even with the ugly gash on her chest staring judgingly at him. The nights they spend together under the silver moon are the only nights that remind him he’s still there. The millennia have begun to merge in his mind.

(Sometimes she comes on other days. Sometimes she comes in blazing gold and deep crimson, in the silks she would have worn on their wedding and desert lilies and silent princesses woven into her thick braids. Sometimes she comes in soft blues and purples, one of those summer dresses she loved so much, a book tucked under her elbow and eyes sparkling with desire for adventure.)

(And sometimes she comes to him bare, the gold of Gerudo jewels the only thing concealing her from his starved eyes, and urges him to join her upon the cold ground and have her as he had her in life. He wakes up with an ache in his chest and his seed spilled over his hands.)

The logical part of his brain can see the difference between true visits and visions. But the part that is human is so starved for her, so hungry for soft smiles and airy laughter and gentle kisses. Ganondorf gives the corpse another glare and kicks it so hard he swears he can hear bones break, then turns around and walks away from the scene.

Ever since that new little princess has been born, his Zelda — his true Goddess— has not come for him. The visions of her haunt his days, but come full moon he’s left alone. Not even these bloody summons — the way they had found their way to each other in the first place, all those ages ago — work anymore.

And he is all alone again, with his guilt and his pain.

* * *

“You are not real.”

Not-Zelda lifts her head and looks at him, her head tilted in that oh-so-familiar manner. Her hair is loose ( _ wrong wrong wrong _ , she would never do that, she was too prim and proper— ) and the hem of her dress skirts the smooth skin of her calves (as if she would ever do that— ) but her eyes are as sharp as always. Her book closes with a soft clap and she lowers it, then turns to face him fully.

He can see the freckles splattered over the bridge of her nose. They are not in the right places and her lashes are not as thick as they should be, and the slope of her nose is wrong— 

“I am as real as you make me be, Ganondorf,” Not-Zelda says with a shrug of slender shoulders. He reaches to caress her neck and brush a curl of silver-gold away from her two-tone skin. “She is Beyond, now, and she can’t come to look for you.”

A growl rises from the back of his throat, but Not-Zelda doesn’t look concerned. Ganondorf knows there is no reason for her to be concerned, but it still wounds his pride when all she does is return to her book.

“I am nothing but a fruit of your imagination, my love.” 

“I know!” he cries, staring up at the clear sky, at the soft white clouds traveling across its blue expanse. “I know she is gone and I know she can never come back! I don’t need my own fucked up brain to tell me that!”

When he turns to his right, the figure that was Not-Zelda is gone, the grass she sat on not even bent. 

* * *

“You are a fool,” Zelda bristled, looking down at him with arms crossed over the ugly wound on her chest. “What were you trying to do? Get yourself killed?!”

_ Yes _ , Ganondorf wanted to cry. 

“I can’t die,” he said instead, leaning against the nearby wall. Blood leaked from the gash on his side and try as he might press his hand against it, his vision grew more and more blurry by the second. “Shouldn’t you be thanking me,  _ Princess _ ? For ridding this blessed kingdom of its scum?”

And then he proceeded to trip on his own feet and fall against the wall, his head ringing when it collided with the cold stone. 

“I have been dead for centuries, you stupid man. I hold no allegiances in the living world safe for you.” Zelda knelt down next to him and ran her hands over where the wound was. Her hands were frost-cold but he welcomed the touch anyway. Smooth fingertips caressed the blackened flesh. “If I was still alive and still capable of having headaches— ”

“For fuck’s sake, if you were alive, none of this would have happened and both of us would have been resting six feet under long ago. I’m not exactly in the mood for one of your Wisdom lectures right now.”

“You. Are. Dying!”

“I  _ cannot  _ fucking die.” Ganondorf glared at the silver ghost in front of him. Never to back down, Zelda glared back, purple eyes narrowed and burning with only barely concealed rage. It was that fire that had made him fall in love with her in the first place, wasn’t it? “Do you think I haven’t tried? That bastard Link fucking left and took the Master Sword with him! I’ve been trying to kill myself since the day you died in my arms! I want to die! I’m done with this sorry existence of a life!”

The rage in her eyes disappeared as if the wind had blown away a candle and Zelda averted her gaze. Her cold hands moved from his wound up to his face, cupping his cheeks and pressing their foreheads together. Even her breath was cold, blowing frost over his lashes. But her lips were as soft as he remembered — Goddesses, he could never forget — and he was a weak, weak man.

“I’m tired, Zelda,” Ganondorf whispered, his hand — the one not pathetically trying to stop the blood flow — wrapping around her small frame and tucking her into his side. “I’m so tired of this, Zelda.”

“I know. I know.” Tears fell on his face, turning into ice when they touched his skin. “I know, my love.”

* * *

Princess Zelda is turning sixteen today and Ganondorf has no idea what he is doing in the capital. The smell of flowers is thick in the air, wreaths and laurels and buckets decorating every doorstep, every street. Hyrule has blossomed in the long ages he’s spent hiding in the woods and waiting for a blade of glowing steel to pierce his chest. With no Calamity, with no beast to tear through their lands and render their progress into nothing, people have been growing.

The Princess herself, he has heard, has planned to celebrate her birthday by inviting all of her people to a feast in the castle. There isn’t going to be a rich banquet for the elite, like the one he met and fell for his Zelda. The memory brings a smile to his face, the image of the awkward girl stuffed into layers and layers of over-ruffled silks who had laughed when he chased her in the gardens and stole her first kiss making his chest hurt.

For a moment, Ganondorf wonders what this Princess is like. He’s met many Zeldas through the many years and none of them have carried the spark of Divinity — Hylia’s spark — that he knows. The part of his soul that once loved a Goddess hums at the memory of clear blue skies and fields of gold, but the human thinks about amethyst eyes and curls of moonlight. 

Is she kind? Is she quiet or does she speak her mind? The people seem to love her — everywhere he goes, people talk about the kind Princess who hands food out and spends more time running away from the castle than she does inside of it. What does she look like? Flaxen blonde, or chestnut, or ginger, or perhaps even silver; are her eyes blue or green or brown? He is curious, he admits. 

But Ganondorf knows he cannot. His Zelda or not, she still has Wisdom, and Power has never left him; he is afraid of what might happen, should they meet. He is afraid the one who has his love’s name and Her spirit would have him felled or exiled.

He is afraid she might look at him and recognize him.

He passes by the bakery and sees a tall sister deep in conversation with a Hylian girl. The sight sends a different pang to his chest — how long has it been since he visited the Valley of his youth? He has long forfeited his rights as King, but he is Gerudo still, and the red sands sing for him. Maybe it’s time to go home.

(A visit to the Spirit Temple and the High Priestess, hopefully, may clear his mind and help him figure out why she has suddenly disappeared.)

The idea of having some sort of goal, however temporary, brings some spark of life in his core and reminds him he hasn’t eaten in days. Ganondorf tries to pay for his food, but the sister — her name is Kiana, he later learns, and she has arrived to offer her wares to the Princess — and the Hylian girl pile a dozen or so buns of fresh bread into his arms. Kiana helps him find a place to sit and shares the food with him, but the little Hylian runs off with a smile, her thick braid of pale blonde hair the last thing he sees.

“Are you sure you don’t want to stay for the festival?” Kiana asks him that evening, after he’d managed to find a sturdy horse to take him back to the Valley.

“I have no business with a Hylian princess, sister,” he assures her with an easy smile. He doesn’t remember the last time he’s spoken his mother tongue with a person not his own hallucinations. “Home awaits me.”

“Stay safe, Desert King.”

Ganondorf opens his mouth to correct her, but she smiles and waves him off without a word. Underneath him, Illura — a sturdy auburn mare, Gerudo-bred and raised — gives a soft snort and looks ahead, to the tall western gate. 

The Desert awaits them. 

* * *

It’s ten years later that a letter arrives at the doors of the Spirit Temple, drenched with the smell of rose water and written by a hand he knows as well as his own.

Ganondorf stares at the letter for a long time, fingers running over the dark ink and tracing the letters of his name. It’s simply modern Hylian, of course, but there is something hauntingly familiar in the curls of the letters, in the name signed in the bottom left corner. Princess Zelda, twenty-six of age, beautiful and unmarried and untouched, has requested his presence at her court. It’s not a question — it’s an order, as much as it is an invitation. He knows she will not blame him if he were to refuse. He knows his story is a known one. People do not fear a monster without teeth.

The High Priestess watches him quietly from the door as he hastily throws whatever little belongings he has in a bag. His hair is wild, red falling almost all the way to his knees, he is still half-bare after being rudely woken up by the messenger still waiting outside. Clothes are hastily thrown on, his brush is shoved into the pack. His hands are shaking and he needs three attempts to pull his mane from his face — until the High Priestess steps behind him and twines her skilled hands into the scarlet waves, deftly weaving them into a thick braid.

“Thank you, Mother Zhai,” Ganondorf tells her with a bow, his braid falling over his shoulder. “Thank you for letting me stay.”

Although he is at least a millennia older than her, the High Priestess smiles and reaches up to gently caress his cheek.

“You are still a child of the Desert. She watches over us wherever we go. The Temple will always be open for you, Ganondorf Dragmire. May the Goddesses protect you.”

He can’t force himself to smile, so he kisses her hand in gratitude and runs outside, where the Hylian messenger is still patiently waiting for him.

* * *

There are no fancy throne rooms or council meetings he has to interrupt — there’s simply a servant who freezes when they see him, gives him a smile, then proclaims that the Princess is reading in the gardens. 

Hyrule Castle has changed so much since the last time he’s laid foot inside but finding the gardens isn’t particularly hard. Ganondorf doesn’t find himself in a particular hurry, either — he takes the sight of the rich greenery and breathes in the multitude of smells. He closes his eyes and lets the wind caress his face, tug on his braid. He runs his fingers through the overflowing waterbeds and pulls a blue silent princess in his hands. The thick aroma of honey nearly makes him choke, but he chuckles and holds it anyway.

“You are not supposed to take those,” a soft voice calls behind him.

“Not the first Princess I’ve stolen,” he responds with a shrug of his shoulders. 

When he turns to face her, Princess Zelda looks unamused. Her hair is long, pale curls of silver-gold bound into a long braid that loops over the back of her head in magic only possible because of hairpins; her eyes are dark purple and rimmed by dark, thick lashes. Freckles dust over the bridge of her nose and the bare tops of her shoulders. 

“No, most likely not.” She tucks her book under her elbow and examines him closely, her eyes narrowed. Ganondorf waits with bated breath for something to happen — a flash of recollection, perhaps, a  _ reaction  _ — but Zelda does nothing. If anything, her frown deepens. “You smell.”

“I spent a week on horseback.”

“No excuse.” The princess gives him one scalding look and pushes a finger into his chest. A spark of electricity runs through him and he swears he sees fire flare in her eyes. “Quarters of fitting quality have been prepared for you. I expect you to join me for dinner. Hopefully not smelling of horse and sweat.”

“Of course, Your Highness.” Ganondorf tucks the flower behind her ear and smirks when he sees her face flare bright red. Something familiar — something like joy, something like desire — tickles his insides. “You are a very bad actress, you know, Zelda?”

She doesn’t answer. Her fingers caress the petals of the flower. He gives her a knowing look and smiles in what feels like the first time in centuries before leaving her alone in the garden.

* * *

There is food, there’s wine — rich red wine, sweeter than honey — and there are words being said. Ganondorf concerns himself with none of them, gathering the Princess in her rich red silks and wrapping his arms around her, holding her as tight as he can. He doesn’t know when he’s started crying — he doesn’t know when  _ she’s  _ started crying — but at some point, they are both sitting on the floor near the fireplace, curled up together and sobbing into each other’s arms. 

Zelda is so small in his arms — so fragile, so breakable. A twist of her neck would kill her. But his hands don’t wrap around her throat — no, his hands travel over her form, cupping her cheeks, her hands, holding her against him as he presses his lips to the top of her head and tries his best to assure he’s there. She sniffs and trembles and presses herself a bit closer to him when he tries to move, tucking her face into the crook of his neck. Her breath — warm and alive — tickles his skin.

“I was so scared,” she whispers, gripping his shoulders. “Everything— Everything was so dark. I kept following you because you were the only light I saw. I never blamed you. I know you never meant to do it. I know it  _ wasn’t  _ you. But— but I was so scared, Gan. And— and when you kept— when you kept saying you wanted to die, I— please, don’t, no, never, never— ”

“I’m never leaving you again.” Ganondorf presses his lips to her temple and kisses away the tears, trying his best to pretend he isn’t shaking just as much as she is. But those are tears of joy, he reminds himself and kisses her face again, and again, and again, simply delighting in being able to hold his love once more. Zelda sniffs and he kisses the tip of her nose. “We are together now. I’m never letting you go. Never ever ever. The Goddesses Themselves have to tear me away from you. I’ve waited for so long, Zelda...”

Her lips are soft and warm and she sighs against his mouth when he kisses her, holding her so tightly he begins to forget where his body ends and hers begins. The fire roars warmly in the fireplace and Zelda mewls as she tucks her face into his neck, murmuring his name in such a loving way it brings tears to his eyes all the same. They might not be okay — he is messed up beyond reason, she came back from the dead, they are barely holding themselves together — and they might never be. But Zelda is in his arms, Zelda is here and she’s  _ alive  _ and  _ no, this isn’t a hallucination, _ and it feels good.

For the first time in so, so long, Ganondorf falls asleep with a smile.

**Author's Note:**

> come visit my twitter, [monnydoesart](https://twitter.com/MonnyRancheva), where you can see some fancy zelda art and maybe take a look at my commission. (i have some really pretty stuff and i'm in a really bad place financially so everything helps!)
> 
> stay safe~


End file.
